GREEN
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1227 6.61 KB 116
1227 6.61 KB 116
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>Be Anon
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>You had to dirty your clothes and the stairs on the way up to the bathroom.
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>Thinking about the mess in the living room only zaps more energy out of you.
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>Energy needed to clean this alicorn.
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>Did he say his name was Celestia?
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>Celestia is sitting in the bathtub, waiting for you to take action.
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“Celestia”
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>He looks straight at you.
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“Have you been bathed before?”
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>He nods.
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>So he must be familiar with water, no need to introduce him to it.
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>But his next comment halts any further questions for some time.
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>”If it’s no trouble, I would rather be showered.”
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>You process his request then move your hand away from the tap.
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>It reaches for the shower-head and slowly pulls it from its rack.
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>How is he familiar with a bathroom?
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>And you’ve noticed that every time he talks, he reveals something strange about himself.
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>For example, why did he infer that every ‘pony’ had the same name?
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>It’s not solely what he says, but what he is:
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>a mythological creature you found in between two dumpsters.
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>You wish you could interrogate him now while he’s with you, but your brain is frazzled and you’re too tired to listen to anything.
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>Maybe in the morning - if he’s still around.
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>”Is there something wrong?”
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>Your eyes switch back on.
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“Sorry, just tired.”
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>He stares at his hooves again.
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>You twist the shower-knob and wet him before lathering his dirty mane with shampoo.
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>You don’t know how careful you should be, but he is handling the water really well.
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>Even when you got soap in his eyes, he didn't thresh around.
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>The colour of the water satisfies you: a disgusting, putrid shade of grey.
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>The mane is left vibrant, so you apply the same treatment to his tail.
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>Once finished, you face his coat; you don’t know whether to use body wash or more shampoo.
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>He turns to look at you with concern because it seems you’re taking too long to decide.
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>You end up switching to body wash because there is more of it in the bottle.
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>Now you need to decide whether to use your hands or the luffa.
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>You point to it.
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“Do you know what this is?”
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>He nods.
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>”Yes. It’s like a rough sponge.”
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>You chuckle while adding soap to the rough sponge, and with a little water, it became a sudsy overflow.
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>You emulsify his back, which required a lot of elbow grease.
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>That is nothing compared to the grime concealed by his wings.
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>You tell him to hold them up.
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>And he does.
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>And he does so elegantly and sensitively to try not to get water out of the tub; you appreciate his awareness.
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>Now to tackle that sprawling grime on the haunch.
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>But upon scrubbing, you realise it gets more radiant and defined.
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>Until a symbol of the sun is uncovered - and admired.
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>You remember seeing the same thing on the other side, so you work to dig that out too.
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>And sure enough, on this alicorn’s body are two identical suns, each on either side of the flank.
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>He peeps out from his mane.
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>”Do you like it?”
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>He watches your eyes.
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>”It’s my cutie mark, I was one of the first to get it amongst my friends.” He says, with glee.
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“So you weren’t born with it?”
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>”Not at all. You have to discover what is unique about you, like a talent.”
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“And what makes you unique?”
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>”Well…”
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>He hesitates a little bit.
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>”I can raise the sun, but so could everypony, so it isn’t all that unique.”
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>?
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>You’re almost in shock, but he continues.
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>”…But they told us we all shared the one special talent.”
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>There is some silence: not exactly awkward, but something along the lines of it.
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“Can you raise the sun now?”
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>You ask it without thinking. Daytime now would be catastrophic, but you only want to validate at least one of his claims.
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>He tenses his shoulders and looks for the feeling that will aid his uneasiness.
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>”I guess I could try.”
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>He stood up in the tub, wet, and shut his eyes. All focus was on the horn.
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>It charged up again, but with a softer glow and a low whirr.
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>And then it lit up like a bright torch-light.
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>He opened his eyes and was ecstatic to see that his effort paid off.
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>”Can you check outside? I think it's day!”
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>So you shake your hands dry and peer out of the bathroom door to look through bedroom window.
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>It was still night.
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”It’s still night.”
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>He peeled his eyes off the horn.
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>”Oh.”
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>After some reflection, he reattached them.
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>”Let me try once more.”
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>So he tightly shuts his eyes and even grunts. Nothing changes but the radius of the light.
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>Until it suddenly stopped and he broke into a pant.
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>In between two gasps, he asks:
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>”No sun?”
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>You shake your head.
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>He looks reasonably disappointed in himself.
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>Your sympathy lies not with his disappointment, but with his naivety that either came from pure stupidity or, more probably, gullibility from inexperience.
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>He sits back down, staring at his hooves with an odd expression, but without a hint of betrayal.
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”Hey, it’s okay, we can try again tomorrow night. Maybe your horn is just busted from earlier.”
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>He looks back at you.
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>“You’re right!”
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>Maybe you should’ve been more blunt about the possibilities, but you are not prepared to bear the burden of sympathy at this time.
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>You go ahead and wash off remaining soap on your hands and his body before drying him off with a towel.
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>You were about to carry him out of the tub when you remembered that your shirt was very dirty and pants dusty.
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>You wrap him up tight so that only his head and horn and a strand of hair peep out.
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>”Wait here.”
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>You get out while hiding a smirk.
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>It stays with you as you change, and you can hear him trying to loosen up his cocoon.
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>It continues as you put fresh pants on.
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>The thought of him wriggling pushes your cheeks back, until you hear a thud.
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>You rush over with a shirt swinging around your neck to find that he’s laying on the bathroom floor, with both the towel and a sheepish grin on him.
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>You get your arms through the holes before letting gravity pull the shirt down, all while you move in to take a closer look.
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>”Sorry, it was constricting.”
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>You kneel to pick him up. He’s wet, but at least all clean.
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>You bring him to the foot of the bed to not get pillows damp, then he shuffles into comfort.
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>You go to retrieve the towel.
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>And as you come back, you blink.
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>And the pony almost goes away.
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>Maybe when you wake up.
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>You hang it on the door.
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>You kick your laundry into a pile and dive into the bed.
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>You swim to the back of your mind and sleep almost immediately.
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>But somewhere in the limbo between sentience and space, you sense a mass closing into proximity.
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>With the energy you have, there is no choice but to accept it into your arms.
by Fish
by Fish
by Fish
by Fish